Prompt 4: Regret
by Moretta
Summary: For the prompt table at hp pottermalfoy on LJ. Going through the ages of Draco Malfoy, his thoughts on what made him who he was today. Does he regret any of the conditions that brought him here?


**Hey everyone. [waves]  
I know it's been a while - ok, more than that - but I promise you that I am still alive, though not writing _anything_**** quite as much. Which is sad, because writing makes me infinitely happy.  
This was for a prompt by **Hikari Riku** on her LJ community. If I ever get round to writing more, I might post them.  
Many thanks go to **nizdolls** and **lokifan** (I _will_ write your birthday fic, I promise) simply because they're awesome.**

**Oh, and if anyone is still interested in reading 'Our Happily Ever After' (_cough_asif_cough_), please drop me a line either in a review here, there or in a private message (there's a link at the top of the author's page).  
I think that's all this time.**

**Love to all,  
Moretta*  
**

**Prompt 4: REGRET  
**

* * *

_The wizard from the Prophet smiled his inevitably fake, too-white smile,"Well, that's wonderful, Mr Malfoy. Your research has been invaluable to the ministry. Now, one last question before we leave."  
"Yes?" Draco smiled back, aware that his own wasn't much more sincere than the interviewer's._

"_Do you ever regret any of the conditions that brought you here?"_

_Silence._

"_Sometimes..."_

Age 11, refuted by his hero, wounded in his innocence – if it could be called such – unaware that what he thought could be up for debate. Establishing his role in Slytherin House, fighting his way to the top, choosing the rest of his friendships wisely, becoming slightly colder, acting like his father. Being given detention for doing the right thing, having to go into the Forest with Potter – the youngest Seeker in a century – and arguing, seeing things he never wanted to see again. Being punished when his father found out Granger had got better marks – he was good, but he knew she was better. A summer of lectures, of training, of studying, of etiquette, of trying to gain his father's approval in everything, in anything.

Age 12, accused of cheating, fighting, arguing. The Quidditch fiasco, branded as having corrupted the team even though he'd rightfully earned his place. Duelling with Potter and almost winning, until Potter upstaged him because of a Dark ability. Letters to his father, being berated for letting Granger beat him at another test. Not being the Heir, disappointed yet somehow also very much relieved, needing to hide behind his father's ideals once students started being attacked. A summer with his mother, learning everything she would teach him, family history, bloodlines, renewing his French.

Age 13, learning how to become more cunning, his ambitions growing, keeping his head in his studies apart from his occasional fights with Potter, the enmity becoming as natural as breathing. Attempting to deal with finance, estates, to please his father, studying contract law, history, Latin, to please his mother. Refining his image, continuing to learn proper protocol. A summer in France, following his father around the properties, going with him to solicitors, barristers, learning.

Age 14, gladly staying away from the Goblet, amazed, devastated, but hardly surprised when Potter's name was called out. Continuing with his studies, Ancient Greek, criminal law. Going to every Task, silently cheering his enemy on, the mask he had created becoming easier to maintain. Dreading what it meant when he and Diggory disappeared during the last Task, feeling unnaturally glad when Potter came back alive, believing him when he said the Dark Lord was back. After all, who would doubt him? Nightmares beginning to appear after his father's confirmation of the events. A summer spent buried even deeper into his books, avoiding his parents.

Age 15, instinctively knowing that this year would be strange, different, even unnerving, fighting with Potter as if nothing had changed, but knowing it had, landing a spot on the Inquisitorial Squad, thinking that it was almost like training to be a Death Eater – learning to be ruthless, ignore pleas, follow direct commands without questioning them. Shocked, recognising his father's reactions in himself, in his words, in his actions, in his scowl, after a night of doing Umbridge's bidding, but not able to pull himself away from the allure of that much power over his fellow students. Nightmares starting to become more regular, about giving his mind up to simply follow the temptation, about everything he had always feared his father had done, everything he could end up doing, about the stories that he had read about from before, from the first war. Nightmares that foretold the end of the year, the fight at the Ministry. Taunting Potter, because that's what he was supposed to do, but finally understanding that there are two sides to every story. A summer, the first, where his books were ignored. A summer where choices were taken away, ultimatums asked and the answer only one.

Age 16, nightmares still plaguing him, worse than before, but finally understanding that he could do nothing about them. Afraid for his life, but more for his family's, doing everything he could to make the nightmares disappear from his day, desperate to put them back into his head and out of his mind, spending every waking moment planning, knowing that being caught was not an option, fighting even harder, making his mask stronger, imagining it was steel, becoming emotionless, meaner, crueller, hurting fellow students, wishing he didn't have to, running out of time, of options, crying out the anguish that one time when Potter found him, almost comforted by the fact that Potter would stay the same, thinking him a cold bastard, instead of trying to understand why he was there, wishing he could laugh as the blood was warm on his hands, but at least it was his own blood, waking up in the Infirmary, receiving an unsigned letter, needing a new plan. Finding the perfect plan and hating himself for it. All thoughts blurred as the end of the year approached, days and nights blending together, Death Eaters, Dumbledore, knowing what he had to do, but not able to do it, not to the Headmaster, Snape showing up, taking the decision out of his hands, the weight off his shoulders, running, screaming, breaking things, crying. A summer confined in four walls he could touch, with too many chains he could not. A summer of regret, longing to go back and change everything, being proud that he managed to outwit the school wards, ashamed of the same thing, then forgetting his previous thoughts upon seeing his mother, confused, scared, angry, attending meetings, being tortured, but never being Marked.

Age 17, hiding with Snape, forbidden from seeing his family, studying from lack of choice, pretending he was at school, arguing with the Potter in his head, the only person who he could conjure up a decent image of, a year spent wishing he could find a Time Turner and do it all over again, a year terrified of falling asleep, not knowing what he would dream of, but being able to guess. Then, the fight at Hogwarts. Staying well away from battle until the very end, wanting to do something, anything, find someone and confess everything he had felt, every pressure he had been under, every moment of panic, but landing at school, memories washing over him, and having to fire spells off at people he knew, parents of friends of his, hoping against hope that he knew none of the masked people. Seeing Potter, who, for some reason, nodded instead of cursing him, then ran off, finding his mother, smiling, really smiling, for the first time in so long, being caught.

Age 18, awaiting trial, the only thing keeping him sane during his stint in Azkaban being the mental state that had got him through the last year. He was the last one to be judged, the only one his age not to have shed tears for the fate that awaited him, sitting through the trial, knowing it was all a charade, that there could only be one sentence, hoping his mask would hold, terror filling him when the judge asked the opinion of the room.

"_...but,"  
_

Age 11, establishing his role in Slytherin House, making friends with Blaise and Pansy, making sure Crabbe and Goyle were alright, finally at Hogwarts, writing to his mother of all the wonders of the school, getting sweets from her. Learning a spell from a 5th year, practising it on a Hufflepuff, thinking about pranks. Studying Potions for fun, playing Exploding Snap, winding up Weasley, challenging himself by going against Granger, letting Potter irritate him, becoming focused on plotting against him, seeing a baby dragon, if just for a moment, seeing a unicorn, though dead, waking up Blaise and telling him what had happened, going to the House Quidditch matches. Going home at the end of the year happy with his results, promising his friends to write, waving at them as he left the platform.

Age 12, joyous at having made the house team, his happiness only slightly taken aback when he learnt of the brooms, finding out about the Chamber of Secrets, knowing he, as a Pureblood, was safe, writing letters to his father, keeping him updated about it all, receiving replies, learning how to play chess, grinning when he found he was a natural. Going home at the end of the year looking forward to spending time with his mother, in the sun, in the gardens.

Age 13, becoming closer to Pansy, learning Latin, like he had always wanted to, just like his mother had, arguing with Potter, winning against Hufflepuff though even Potter had lost against their Seeker. Going home to find his trunk repacked, ready to go to France, seeing all the Wizarding sights, seeing a Veela for the first time.

Age 14, going to the Quidditch World Cup with his father, cheering Ireland on, witnessing the Triwizard Tournament at school, talking to Skeeter, becoming thoroughly interested in the magics of contract law, taking Pansy to the Yule Ball, his first kiss, hers too, deciding that he could get used to it, racing his team around the Quidditch pitch, finding Pansy with Nott, deciding not to tell her that he knew, just not to go any further. Going home, the train ride the happiest moment, thinking that perhaps Hogwarts was more of a home than the Manor.

Age 15, muddling his way through his blooming sexuality, getting a spot on the Inquisitorial Squad, being the one to bust Potter's Defence group, though no one knew, books his only pleasure, though Pansy tried to change that. Beating Blaise at Exploding Snap for the umpteenth time, finally singeing one of his eyebrows off completely, burning his index finger in the process, but laughing his head off through it all. Going home, giving Pansy a hug on the platform and promising Blaise to write regularly.

Age 16, finding that the mask he had constructed had no cracks was good, especially as this year was when he needed it the most; fighting with Potter as usual, staying on top of his studies. His first sexual encounter, a disaster, but he'd been told it would be, so he'd gone into it after reading more than ever, trying to learn everything off books, and his second, third, fourth, trying to fit his whole life into those few hours between work, sleep and planning. There was no going home that year.

Age 17. Finding his mother.

Age 18, awaiting trial, the only thing keeping him sane during his stint in Azkaban being the mental state that had got him through the last year, he was the last one to be judged, the only one his age to not have shed tears for the fate that awaited him, sitting through the trial, knowing it was all a charade, there could only be one sentence, seeing Harry Potter – who else? - stand up and proclaim him innocent of war crimes and already bound by his own guilt. Not understand what this meant, taken out of the court as his case was further discussed, confused when the guards did not take him back to his cell, but led him straight into the courtroom stands, straight into the waiting hands of Potter. Potter, of all people, taking him to his home, giving him food, clothes, a place to stay – a life; offering company, friendship, all gladly taken after his months in prison, all the time wondering why. Wishing he could go back to the Manor, back home.

Age 19, still not knowing why, but learning to accept it all the same. Getting a job in the Ministry, being reintroduced to Granger, working with her, slowly making friends with the girl, appreciating her humour, laughing when he found her thirst for knowledge had lessened about as much as his had, spreading his wings, making a name for himself, finding Pansy,who had escaped to Italy, reaffirming their friendship, being invited to the Burrow by Molly Weasley herself, along with Potter, finding himself, amazingly, completely at ease in the ocean of redheads, knowing a head of black hair would always be off to the side if necessary. Beating Weasley, the one he used to hate, the male one, at chess, expecting him to blow up, but receiving a smile instead, not only from him but from the rest of his family and Granger, no, Hermione, and Potter. Spending Christmas with them too, opening presents, becoming the childrens' favourite "uncle", smiling a lot more than he used to, turning up with Potter every Sunday for lunch, as the Weasleys loved having them round. Slowly understanding more about Potter as he continued to live with him, like how he would always take his tea in the same chipped mug, regardless of the fact that there were many other mugs, or how he would lie on the floor when he wanted to concentrate, and yet did the same when he wanted to relax – all that differed was the position of his left eyebrow. Finding that he and Potter were a good team.

Age 20, comfortable in his job, shocked when Hermione skipped into the office one Monday morning and hugged him, telling him she and Ron had got engaged, feeling happy for her, happier than he had ever been for another person, exclaiming over her ring, because she deserved it, Potter's smile of approval when he contacted and congratulated Ron. Taking his "uncle" duties very seriously and spoiling all the children terribly, feeling happier than he had in a long time when they hugged him and thanked him enthusiastically, answering all their questions, why was he so white, he knew they meant blond, why didn't he have a wife, why hadn't they known him before, why did he live with Harry, all the while being silently watched by Potter. Although Ron was Ron and Hermione was Hermione, he could not call Potter, Harry. Being promoted, thinking about moving out of Potter's house, talking about it with him, who had grinned and told him he had got used to having a housemate, ending up feeling content where he was. Receiving his first Weasley jumper at Christmas, opening the present as the whole family drew a breath, hugging Molly and just smiling. Thinking that this, this was almost home.

Age 21, helping Hermione pick out a wedding dress, the flowers, the invitations, remembering his mother's stories about such events, helping her calm down as she panicked about the whole thing, asking Potter for advice, working round the clock so she could have extra time off – his wedding present to the couple; sitting next to Potter, in the church, as the wedding took place, glancing between bride and groom, between the love displayed so openly on each face, turning to say something to Potter and finding he was already looking at him, his expression close to the couple's. Turning right back round to stare at his friends, avoiding Potter during the rest of the ceremony, disappearing to play Hide and Seek with the children during the reception, sneaking back in to listen to Potter's speech as best man. Asking himself if he could handle letting anyone play with his fragile emotions, if he could handle letting someone in that deeply, if he could really fit in with this family. Going home and finding his Weasley jumper on his chair in his bedroom.

He already was part of the family.

Potter came home, he made tea, called Potter "Harry" and Potter, smiling a beautiful smile, called him "Draco".

He was home.

"_then I remember those are why I'm here, why I am who I am, and I regret nothing."_


End file.
